A Cage To Hold My Dreams
Town Of Memory
Everything has gone from this town of memory,
gone, like my father's weathered smile
and my mother's chiding voice.
How could I once live and love in this
mournfield ? Could passion ever flourish
against so grim a backdrop.
And yet, beside that snow-capped garage
wall and in that redstone village hall
the awfulness and uncertainty
of being young was all mine,
fenced from the actuality of manhood
until a lady shared with me her secret.
Where are the familiar landmarks which
marked out this town of memory ?
That hypermarket, I recall was once
a row of terraced cottages.
Wasn't that deserted shell of a building
once a thriving cinema where
people queued in the rain and loved
and laughed and wept ?
I walk these grey, unsightly streets
hogged by strangers who
elbow me aside in their mad dash
to buy chicken curry. The years have
hardened this town of memory, they
have sucked her veins dry and replaced
her soul with grim underpasses
and takeaways.
